


With The Curtains Drawn

by apliddell



Series: A Chemical Defect [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dancing Lessons, F/M, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV First Person, POV John Watson, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock teaches John to dance in preparation for his wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With The Curtains Drawn

"Put your right hand on my waist," Sherlock tells me.

It’s only half a step nearer, but it seems to make quite a difference. There’s heat coming off him. I can feel it, even in the warm sitting room. And I haven’t even touched him yet. I put my hand on his waist, then look up at him. He’s wearing a little half smile, and he reaches behind him to move my hand up a bit. “There,” he says and puts his left hand on my shoulder. It isn’t as heavy as it looks, but its warmth sinks right through my shirt, and I fancy I can feel his fingerprints on my skin. I haven’t been this close to him in ages. Not since I tackled him in the restaurant. The night I proposed.

I can feel him breathing. Well, right. Obviously I can. He’s breathing, and I’ve got my hand on his waist. He smells of starch and tobacco and faintly of coffee. I look down, willing my face not to go hot. I think it’s working. “Look at me,” he says. It takes me a beat to make myself do it. When I do, his eyes are shut, and he’s holding out his right hand, palm up, at about the height of my shoulder. “Take my hand,” he says, just as I realise I’m meant to. I do. It’s warm and dry and makes me wonder if mine is clammy. He opens his eyes and smiles. “There now,” he says, “We’ve started.”

I’m looking at his mouth. He wets his lips, and I must be imagining that he knows what I’m thinking. I look down. “Look at me, John,” he says. I force my eyes back up to his shoulder. Should be safe enough. But no. He squeezes my hand reprovingly. “My face, John. Look at my face.” He puts a soft emphasis on my name. It’s like an excavated thing, my name. Seems to come from deeper in him than the rest of his words. “Remember,” he continues, “biggest night of our lives. We’re in love, yes?”

"What?" I choke. I know I’m going red, now, but I look at him anyway.

There are little vertical bemusement lines between his eyebrows. “I’m Mary,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

"Ha, right." He smiles at me and shuts his eyes again. With his thumb, Sherlock begins to mark time on my hand. He inhales and begins to hum along with the music. I can feel him swelling and buzzing under my hand. I must be blushing. I feel hot and somehow too large and too small at once. I drop my hand from his side, but he’s holding the other. Sherlock opens his eyes and cocks his head. "Ready, John?" he asks.

I draw a long, steadying, Sherlock-scented breath and replace my hand on his warm side. “Yes,” I say. “Ready.”


End file.
